(no subject)
Challenge #2: Blasphemy
Highlander and X-Files (I don't own them, I just borrowed their likenesses)
The Trickster God
Johnny peered uneasily over the edge at the pounding surf below. Waves crashing against the rocks barely whispered at this distance. The wind swept up and over the cliff, tugging at his clothes and stinging his eyes to tears.
“Afraid?” Raven challenged, his face alight. Saltwater runneled off his sleek body to puddle around his bare feet. There wasn’t a mark on him. He shook his head laughing and the spray flew.
He looked like a god to Johnny.
“’Cause if you’re afraid,” Raven taunted, cocking his head. “You aren’t worthy.” He eyed Johnny critically, raising one eyebrow. “Are you worthy, my little fledgling?”
“I’m worthy, Raven!” Johnny shouted, feeling his heart batter against his ribs like a caged bird.
“Are you ready to fly?” Raven threw his arms wide to catch the wind.
“I’m ready!” Johnny cried and he stripped off his clothes as Raven had done.
Raven nodded, a smile tugging briefly at his lips. “Cast off your fetters. Leave your old life behind.” He clapped Johnny on the back. “And be reborn!”
Johnny grinned crazily, buoyed on euphoria. “I’m ready, Raven!”
“Then fly!” Raven urged, stepping back with a sweeping gesture toward the cliff.
Johnny towed the precarious edge, feeling the rocks slide underfoot. He couldn’t fall and disgrace himself in Raven’s eyes! Giving a primal yell, he launched himself into the night sky, cutting the air like a knife.
Raven watched the graceful arc of the youth’s fall, wincing as the body hit the grinding surf.
“Or not.” Humming tunelessly, he bent to his pile of clothes and slowly began to dress.
*
Duncan MacLeod looked down at the sad, broken body of his friend’s errant nephew. Cleaned of its wounds, his still body belied its violent end. Duncan nodded and the morgue attendant slid the drawer closed. He left the chill room with the FBI agent in charge of the investigation.
“It’s not suicide.” Duncan was adamant, whatever the evidence showed. Johnny was a wild kid, but he embraced life; if anything, too fiercely. This was not how Duncan had promised to bring him home to his family.
“I agree,” FBI agent Fox Mulder said, keeping apace of the larger man, as they emerged from the house of the dead into the land of the living.
They both favored black trench coats, but there the similarity ended. Mulder was all business. The conservative cut of his suit and hair spoke government agency. Duncan’s more enigmatic slicked back pony tail and casual attire were harder to define, but his demeanor was equally somber.
“There’s been a rash of suicides out here.” Mulder waved vaguely as if to take in the whole of the Pacific Northwest.
Duncan rounded on the agent. “There have been others?” One death was a misfortune, many deaths spoke of a plan.
The agent seemed to consider how much to reveal to a civilian. “We think there’s a death cult in the area. There are rumors of a charismatic leader with godlike powers who can’t be killed. He has quite a following. The tribal elders were worried enough to call in the FBI.”
That piqued Duncan’s interest. He well knew people who couldn’t die. But they usually kept a lower profile.
“He calls himself Raven, after the Trickster God,” Mulder continued. “He’s preying on vulnerable youth in the community -- taunting them into risking their lives. Your young friend may have been lured in by the promise of immortality.” The agent was not unsympathetic. “What kid doesn’t believe he can live forever?”
Duncan’s mind raced down tangled paths. “Thank you, Agent Mulder. It helps to know the FBI is taking an interest.” Actually, it was a complication, but one Duncan could handle. He took his leave of the agent at a brisk clip. His duster eddied in his wake.
This changed things -- Raven had to be an Immortal, and a twisted one at that. Bad enough passing himself off as a god -- blasphemy was the least of his sins. He crossed the line when he involved mortals in the Game.
His course was set. Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod was on the hunt for a bird of prey.
Highlander or Raven, there would be only one by nightfall.